O Arnold,Where Art Thou?
by Arnold's Crush
Summary: Arnold accepts a dare at Rhonda's sleepover(I can't tell you yet!It'll spoil the story!)that sends him into the most nervewracking adventure of his football-headed life.*CHAPTER FOUR IS SHORT,BUT IS UP!*R&R,please!
1. There Was Preschool...

O Arnold, Where Art Thou?  
  
1 By Angela Marcisak  
  
  
  
DISCLAIMER: I do no own Hey Arnold. I would if I could, but I can't, so I won't. Helga and Arnold forever!!! Ehem…on to the story!  
  
  
  
CHAPTER 1- Introduction/There Was Preschool…  
  
  
  
Hills of strawberry ice cream plains lay vast before his eyes. Never before had he seen such a wondrous sight as this. His shoes, black and shiny, were soon covered in pinkish goop, as were his ankles, and soon, his knees. Truly miraculous. He was knee deep in sherbet! Bringing a finger down to some of the mysterious substance in which surrounded him for many miles, he licked the tip of his index, a smile emerging from his previous look of dumbstruck curiosity. It was ice cream, all right!  
  
He rolled around in the mound, filled with complete ecstasy. Was this a dream? Surely, it had to be. You didn't just doze off in the middle of a heated class debate, dreaming about strawberry ice cream. Maybe dreaming about a new crush you had or counting down the minutes until the end-of- school bell rang out loud, but usually not strawberry ice cream.  
  
Oh yes, back to what I was saying. He seemed to be swimming in the heaps of chilled sorbet, filling his taste buds with the splendor of his surroundings. Suddenly, he froze. Just like that, he stopped. His body tensed, and the massive piles of summerhood swirled into a draining whirlpool. His clothes, pinker than a spinning vat of cotton candy at a circus show, plastered to his pale body. A look of terror froze to his face as he spiraled further and further, down into the depths of the odd whirlpool. "So bizarre…" he thought, but could not move his lips. They were frozen too. By now, the boy had almost reached the light at the end of his tunnel…  
  
"Arnold…Arnold…ARNOLD!" A nine year old boy jumped up out of his seat, startled by the noise that had awakened him from his strange yet surprisingly common trance. He turned his oddly-shaped head to the girl next to him, who was not only the one shouting for his attention, but also the one who had been scowling at him for the past few minutes. A pair of bulging bloodshot eyes stared him directly in the face, a single yet thick eyebrow hovering angrily to match her irritated scowl. This could have been only one person.  
  
"Helga! W-what are you doing?" the boy asked, nervously wrapping a finger around a lock of his flaxen-colored hair. By the crimson shade passing through the single browed preteen looking him in the eyes, he could tell whatever he did had to be pretty annoying to tick off the most aggressive bully to walk the halls of P.S. 118. Helga Pataki.  
  
She scoffed, pointing a shaky finger at the apparently tense daydreamer, which so conveniently happened to be the boy she had been in love with since preschool, yet was so incredibly shy as to not want to confess her true feelings. "The question is, Football Head, what are YOU doing? For Pete's sake, you've been staring at my bow for what, ten minutes? You got a problem, or something, Hair Boy? Need to see the school shrink? Geez, what a dweeb…" Helga spat, fingering the pink ribbon that sat atop her blonde pigtails. She shook her head and walked away, laughing loudly. "Get out of my way, geek bait!" she shouted at a fellow fourth grader, shoving the poor victim head first into the blackboard and stomping straight out of the classroom.  
  
"Man, Arnold…" Gerald shook his head, his eyes filled with friendly sympathy. Arnold nodded; he could predict what his best friend Gerald was about to say without even having to ask. They had been buddies since before first grade, so it was pretty explainable as to why they knew each other so well. Not to mention the "handshake", a little thumb-wrestling thing they did since the early days of preschool. " I just don't get it, Gerald," Arnold sighed, a little anxiety rising in his normally calm tempered voice. "I just don't get why she's been picking on me all these years. Why not someone else? I've been treated like dirt for as long as I can remember." Gerald cleared his throat, nudging Arnold slightly in the rib with his elbow. "Well," he continued, correcting himself," there was preschool…"  
  
~*FLASHBACK*~  
  
There she stood. Helga Geraldine Pataki. Although he didn't happen to know her name so long ago, he could tell she was a lonely soul right off the bat. Splattered in large blotches of mud and walking lonesome; did she even have a friend in the world? All by herself, strolling sadly down the sidewalk, a puddle of rain everywhere she stepped. Her mother and father had been too preoccupied in paying their attention to her fifteen-year-old sister, Olga Pataki. The perfectionist, of course, who had won every achievement award in the city of Hillwood. She was always gifted with a talent, and so was Helga. Shame her family never took the time to notice the little girl with the pink bow.  
  
She stood for a moment, gazing into the transparent sheet of glass that had parted her from the preschool on that rainy Spring day. Letting out a deep sigh, she turned around and gasped, finding herself face to face with a little boy around the same age as her. He stood before a Green Packard, holding a navy blue umbrella, a little blue hat atop his odd football shaped head. He smiled happily at the small puzzled girl, holding his umbrella over her soaked sunshine-colored hair. "I like your bow," he innocently spoke, Helga's eyes widening at his comment. She, having nothing else to say at the time, muttered out a meek "Huh?" He responded, "I like your bow, cause' it's pink like your pants." He closed up his umbrella, smiled and gave a wave, and stepped nonchalantly into the nursery. She pressed her face against the cold window, a small grin plastered to her previously sorrowed expression.  
  
~* END FLASHBACK*~  
  
"So your point is…?" Gerald practically raised an eyebrow to Arnold's flashback. "Gerald, she used to be so much nicer back in preschool. Okay, maybe she never talked that much, and maybe it only lasted for a while, but it was there. Remember when Harold stole her crackers back then?" "Uh…no?" Gerald sheepishly grinned, shrugging his shoulders. Arnold sighed, then continued. "Well, Harold stole her crackers one day in preschool, and I offered her mine. She sure seemed happy after that, except for when the others began laughing and pointing at her. Then, all of a sudden, she became mean. From that point on, she's been nothing but a bully. I just wish she'd open up to me one day so I can see exactly why she's been so cruel to me all these years. Not just me, but everybody…" Arnold shook his head, lost in an ocean of thoughts waving wildly through his mind. "You'll be fine, man," Gerald assured him, patting a warm hand on his shoulder. "Just try to ignore her; it's the least you can do right now, isn't it?" Arnold sighed, nodding his head and grabbing a pile of books, which lay upon his desk. He stood up and looked distantly out the window of the classroom. "Yeah, I guess you're right, Gerald. Maybe I'll try talking to her someday. Someday…" Arnold and Gerald walked solemnly out of the classroom.  
  
"Oh Arnold, my love," Helga whispered, peering at her beloved from behind her opened locker door. "If only there was some way you could understand the pain I suffer from tormenting you day after pitiful day, calling you Football Head and Hair Boy…if only there was a way I could tell you how I truly feel, so you could know I really never hated you at all. If only there was a bond; a bond in which would be so strong that it would never separate either of our beleaguered souls for the longest time. If only someday I could finally have the will to prove my worth to you, my love, the deepest, darkest secret of my heart for which so long I have yearned to tell, that I love you, Arno-," As Helga began to pull out her locket with Arnold's picture and recite meaningful banter to a faux listening ear of hers, a deep wheezing sound was heard behind her shoulder. "Hi Helg-," the shadowed figure began to greet, yet it was too late. Helga slammed the locker door into Brainy's face, closed the combination lock and marched angrily down the school halls leading to the lunchroom, uttering curse words under her tempered breath. It was going to be a long day. 


	2. The Invitations

O Arnold, Where Art Thou?  
  
1 By Angela Marcisak  
  
  
  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Hey Arnold. Not now, not ever. I…I…*breaks down crying* Just read the fic…*sobs*  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi there! This is Angie, the author of this story. First off, I wanted to apologize for what I put in my intro (the "no-chapter- unless-you-review" thing). I really mean it; I didn't mean to piss anyone off, it's just that I see a bunch of other stories with tons of reviews and I figure since mine hardly gets any, then that means that my story sucks. I guess I was wrong, and you were right. I should be doing this for the enjoyment, and for the sheer thrill of seeing my story up on FF.net all the time and knowing I did my best. So, once again, I'm very sorry for what I put. Please forgive me?  
  
1.1 CHAPTER 2- THE INVITATIONS  
  
"That…was…gross…" Gerald groaned, clutching his stomach and walking wearily down the hallway. His cocoa-colored skin had sort of a greenish tint to it ever since he had left the cafeteria that morning with Arnold. Perhaps the school lunch was to take the blame for it; their food was never that good except for the Thursday special, which was bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwiches on toasted bread. Every other day of the week, however, the residents of P.S. 118 were mainly brown baggers. Gerald continued down the hallway with Arnold, passing the nurse's room on the way to their classroom. Arnold peered in, glancing slightly at the usual customers. A long row of students stood against the wall of the office, a few kids with hands clapped miserably over their mouths while others laid in the center of the cold tiled floor, hoping that lying down while waiting to be called for would help their upset stomachs.  
  
Arnold sighed, turning his head to Gerald as they walked into Mr. Simmons's classroom. Gerald gave his friend a sickening look as they sat down, his face a lighter shade of green than it was a few minutes before. To tell the truth, he looked like a chocolate kiwi with an afro. "Gerald, I really think you should go see the nurse," Arnold said assuring, observing that his friend's face was getting paler by the second. "I-I'll b-be fine, m- man. D-don't you worry about a t-thing," Gerald waved a hand in front of Arnold's face, holding the other tightly to his mouth. Arnold let out an irritated sigh, grabbing Gerald by the hand and leading him to the entrance of the classroom. He nudged him slightly out of the doorway, sternly pointing in the direction of the nurse. "Gerald, just go. You look like you've eaten seaweed all day." Gerald shook his head, walking back to the blackboard and picking up a piece of chalk. He wrote:  
  
"It was the lunch I ate!"  
  
Arnold tilted his head, crossing his arms thoughtfully. "You know, Gerald, I didn't think the kelp quiche was that bad…" Gerald shook his head wildly, running out of the classroom and towards the nurse's office. Arnold smiled, stepping out into the hallway. "I knew he'd give in sooner or later."  
  
"Hel-lo, Gorald," Rhonda grinned, blocking the doorway to the nurse's room. "I see you've turned a nice shade of green today. And may I say, excellent Saint Patrick's spirit!" Gerald shook his head, trying to shove aside Rhonda. Rhonda wouldn't budge. "Ehem…" she rudely peered at Gerald, continuing with her speech. "Anyways, I'm having a huge sleepover party tomorrow night, and tons of people are invited. I've taken the liberty in inviting you as well! The party starts at five, so make sure you bring your stuff. And here's your invitation—" Rhonda held out a firm hand, grasping a furry pink note card with purple words etched cursively on the surface. Gerald grabbed the invitation and shoved Rhonda away from the door, nodding his head as to signal he was available for the party. Rhonda, a little peeved that Gerald had almost ruined her brand new designer outfit, watched Gerald open his invitation with delight. "Thanks Rhond--" Gerald eyes popped open, turning his head away from Rhonda back to the invitation. She winced in disgust as a sloshing noise was heard and the hot pink invitation was now dripping with green goo.  
  
A few moments later, Gerald returned, his face a normal brown. He held a wrinkled mass of pale green and pink fuzz in the palm of his hand; it was dripping not with vomit, but with water, as he had to douse it to rid it of the horrible smell. The etched purple words were barely visible, but he gave Rhonda a thumbs-up. "Five o' clock." He smiled, walking back into the nurse's office. Rhonda shuddered, walking hastily back down to the classroom.  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
"And one for Stinky…(Stinky replied with a "Gawrsh, thanks Rhonda!" in his usually drawled voice)…and one for Lila (she replied with, "Oh Rhonda, I'm ever so delighted that you invite me to this party of yours…")…and one for Helga…eh, I'm not sure. This party's for boys and girls, not boy-girls." Rhonda said aloud, a smirk plastered to her face. The class roared with laughter; Helga's face was as red as crimson, not from embarrassment, but from anger. Her brow furrowed wrathfully; she stood up and faced Rhonda, snatching the invitation out of her hand. Surprisingly, all she could do was glare; Arnold, craning his neck toward the two, was taken aback. He had never seen Helga like this before. Usually, whenever someone tossed even the lightest joke in her direction, she would start screaming her head off. But all she did was stand there, bothered by Rhonda's choice of words. She took one last look at Rhonda and sat down in her chair, pulling a pink book out from under her desk and scribbling furiously.  
  
Rhonda sneered, moving on to the next row of kids with still a large pile of invitations filling her arms.  
  
Arnold sighed, walking over to Helga's desk. She raised an eyebrow, putting her book down and crossing her arms. "What do YOU want, Football Head?" she casually snapped. Arnold jumped, taking a step back from her desk. He knew she could be a bully with her tough outer "shell" at times. Yet, at other times, he could see her softer side showing, as much as she hated it to show, it occasionally popped up once in a blue moon. She seemed to smile when writing whatever she wrote in that little pink book of hers, and she'd more than often try to confess to Arnold something, yet he never really knew what it was at all. Most counteractions began with, "Arnold, I…", "Arnold, I just wanted to say…" or "Arnold…I mean, watch where you're going, Football Head!". It was a letdown that she always tried covering up what she was going to say, and her soft side would vanish in a matter of seconds before she said another word. I guess you could say Helga acted like an oyster; a tough shell on the outside, but a soft mushy interior when you got to know her. I guess you could also say that her deepest, darkest secret was the oyster's pearl. So rare, and such a prize at the same time. Oh, how Arnold longed for that pearl…  
  
"Well, what do you WANT, Space Boy?" Helga shouted. "Huh?" he shook his head. Helga growled angrily. "You've been standing here for three minutes dozing off. What do you want?" Arnold cleared himself of his composure, looking back at Helga. "Oh yeah…well, I saw that Rhonda was making fun of you, and I wanted to know if you were okay." Helga scoffed, shrugging her pale shoulders. "Yeah, I'm fine, Hair Boy. What's it to you anyways, Ar- noldo?" she shot back with sarcasm in her voice. He could tell that something was wrong, so he attempted at asking again. "Well, are you sure? You looked a little…" "A little what?" Helga queried. "A little…hurt." Arnold finished. "Hurt? HURT?" Helga crossly scowled. "You're the one who's gonna be "hurt" if you keep giving me all these stupid questions! Yes, I am FINE, it was only a little joke. Don't you GET it? Why would YOU give a crap anyways? Did I ASK for you to feel all bad for me? NO. Now, do me a favor, and get your butt back over there in your seat before I send you there- in a wheelchair!" Helga shoved Arnold away from her desk and lowered her head behind her pink book, continuing to scribble the little thoughts that were on her mind.  
  
Arnold glared madly at Helga, returning to his seat where he was greeted by Gerald. "Hey, man," he started, "What's happenin'?" Arnold sighed deeply, looking back over towards the other side of the room. "I can see the color's came back to your face, Gerald," he replied, attempting at changing the subject. Gerald looked back at Arnold, an annoyed/practical look spreading across his face. "I know for a fact that's not what's bothering you. Now tell me." Arnold sighed once more, burying his head in his hands. "I don't know, Gerald. Every time I try to cheer Helga up, she always pushes me away, like she hates me or something. I always thought that wasn't all that bad deep down, but I think I'm starting to doubt that. I mean, look at her. She scowls at everyone, especially me. She's always yelling at me, calling me Football Head; she always throws spitballs when I least expect it (while Arnold said that, a slimy wad of paper landed on his face; he brushed it off with annoyance)… If you really think about it, she seems to like picking on me more than anyone else in the school. I just don't get why."  
  
Gerald sat in silence, nodding his head. Both of them knew everything Arnold had just said was absolutely true. She had been picking on Arnold especially for the past six years. She had done all of those things that he had mentioned, including the spitballs. And all because of one thing: she loved him.  
  
It was funny how a person could put someone through so much torture when, quite the contrary, that person was in love with them.  
  
And it was funny how that person was Helga. 


	3. The Sleepover Party

O Arnold, Where Art Thou?  
  
By Angela Marcisak  
  
  
  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Hey Arnold, I wish that I did; it would be fine if he were mine, that football-headed kid.  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hello! I just wanted to thank everyone who has been reviewing so far. To JESS- thank you for your reviews! I know how it is when you can't come up with the right words to say, don't feel bad. ( To Arnold&Helga4Ever, I try to make my chapters long, but end up stopping to write a new one. I find it more convenient to not put too much info in one chapter and save some things for the next, and extend the time with heavy detailing. To OlgasEvilTwin- I think you'll enjoy what's in store for this story. (winks) Personally, I've never seen this plot used before…you'll get what I mean. And to rock_steady13, thank you so very much for your review! I'm very happy you feel that way about my fic. Same goes to 'twinkling fairy light': You're all just so wonderful. ( NOW...ON TO THE STORY! ^_^  
  
  
  
CHAPTER 3- THE SLEEPOVER PARTY  
  
  
  
It was 4:30 in the afternoon, a half an hour before Rhonda's big sleepover party. Frankly, she was very surprised that her parents had let her have a sleepover party for not only girls, but boys as well. It was such a thing the Lloyds never took an interest to, but with much coaxing and the occasional "It's the latest trend" thrown in every now and then, her parents finally agreed. However, considering that they would be better off not in the way of chatterbox fourth-graders, Rhonda's parents decided that they would spend the night out at a high-class casino/hotel resort. They weren't at all weary of the concept of leaving Rhonda in charge, and promised they would return in a day or two, in case the sleepover ran on into a second night. That left Rhonda all alone, keeping watch over the front porch in sight of any early birds who decided to arrive a half an hour early.  
  
Meanwhile, Helga stood smiling in front of her mirror at the Pataki household. A pile of clothes stood four feet above her bedroom floor, and small scattered mounds of accessories laid about every spot you could find; it was increasingly hard to step somewhere without hearing a crack or smearing lipstick all over your shoe.  
  
1  
  
2 Helga danced merrily in front of her reflection, delightfully serenading melodies she had heard in the play Carmen, which she hadn't heard in quite some time. "Habanera" had been her favorite one, according to the daydream she had during the class field trip to the opera house. Shame she couldn't live her dream. But, then again, who waltzes up to someone in 16th century clothing and confesses his or her love through musical?  
  
"Oh, Arnold, my love…" Helga started, twirling herself around in the mirror, like a ballerina doll spinning to music. She was wearing a black T- shirt and baggy denim jeans, a little faded, but just the way she liked them. Her hair was let down, slightly frizzed and spiked at the top and around the edges in a "punk rock" sort of way. Her t-shirt read: "Oh crap, you're trying to cheer me up again, aren't you?" She was satisfied with how she looked, and quite truthfully, enjoyed getting away from the whole pink bow-and-dress thing for a while. All she hoped for that quiet afternoon was a little attention from her beloved Arnold, to say the least.  
  
She pulled a golden heart locket from her jean pocket, holding it warmly in the palm of her hand. "At least these jeans are good for holding something," she thought to herself, smiling. Glancing over to her open window, she stuffed the pendant back into her jeans. She could get so lost looking into that beautiful sunset outside her room, but had to be careful not to recite any Arnold poetry that moment. She couldn't take any risk of Arnold himself walking by and hearing her verse. Yet still, the clouds, the setting sun, the sky in its finest hues of gold and violet. It reminded her vividly of him. "Oh Arn—" she stopped, clapping her hand over her mouth. "What am I DOING?" she smirked. Throwing her sleepover bag on a ready shoulder, she creaked the door open and sneaked quietly downstairs. "Eh, why bother…" she smiled, stomping wildly down the steps, opening and slamming the front door. Miriam sat snoring on the living room couch, while Bob cursed angrily at the football game gleaming on the television screen.  
  
"I'll be back tomorrow, Grandpa!" Arnold shouted, standing in the doorway of the Sunset Arms boarding house. "Alright, short man!" Phil responded over the flush of a toilet. Arnold grinned, shutting the door and making his way over to Rhonda's. It was 4:45 in the afternoon, fifteen minutes shy of the evening. Arnold hoped he wouldn't run into Helga like he usually did; he was feeling better than ever that day, and didn't want anyone to spoil his mood, especially not the blonde pink-bowed bully of P.S. 118. He wondered why Rhonda had invited Helga in the first place. They had been natural enemies for as long as he could remember. Rhonda was obsessed with designer fashion and was always up to date with the latest trends, while Helga cared hardly for fashion, settling for a pink jumper she had worn since preschool. Rhonda was the snob, and Helga was…well, you couldn't say snob, but you could say "mean tyrant". Arnold shrugged his shoulders, crossing the corner of a building with a smile on his face. Nothing could go wrong…  
  
Thud. Two blonde heads collided, sending them backward onto the chilling sidewalk beneath them both. Helga rubbed her head, growling fiercely and muttering profanity under her breath.  
  
"If I bump heads with ONE more person today…" she heatedly said aloud to herself, craning her neck to look at the first poor victim she had crashed into that day. She gasped. "A-a-Arnold…" she started. Her blonde beloved jumped to his feet without hesitation. Arnold surely was a little too afraid of getting beaten up by Helga that day and he didn't want to ruin the mood of the party by showing up with a pair of crutches.  
  
"I…I-I'm sorry, Helga!" he smiled falsely. It was a little mean of him to do what he was going to, but he decided he had no other choice. As he turned towards the direction of Rhonda's house and started to run, he felt a soft hand grab him by the shoulder. "No…I'm sorry, Arnold." She smiled. "I…guess I didn't see where I was going…" Helga trailed off in her thoughts, finally stopping short for a moment's silence. She and Arnold… they stared into each other's eyes for what seemed like an eternity. "I just can't take my mind off how strangely…beautiful she looks…" Arnold thought. "Wait…did I just think that? No…no, I'm just probably a little tired today…" He did have to admit, however; her grungy choice of outfit looked a heck of a lot better than the usual clothes she chose to wear at school.  
  
Helga, all the while, stared right back at him. She was lost in those beautiful blue pools of aqua, gleaming brightly even in the faintest sunset. "I wonder if he's thinking about me…" she thought. Blankness. "Nah…" she mentally smiled to herself. Minutes turned to hours. Hours turned to days. Days turned to months, and months to years as they gazed dreamily at the other. Any passersby would soon judge the two to be some sort of couple. What passersby? It seemed as though they were the only people on earth and that time stood satisfyingly still.  
  
And then they snapped. Helga shook her head, her pupils returning to their angry state and her brow furrowing crossly. She glared at Arnold, letting out a growl and stomped off towards Rhonda's.  
  
Arnold glowered right back at Helga, turning to look at the place where they had walked into each other. "Why in the world is she such a pain all the time…" He let out a deep sigh, stopping short only to notice something she had left behind. Her pink book. Arnold. Bent over in anticipation, slowly grasping the diary between his slim fingers. He turned around to call for Helga and to inform her that her journal had been dropped; yet she wasn't within eyesight any longer. He looked back down to the faded suede bound books in his tiny hands. All his life he had wondered what his darkest enemy had been thinking; what was behind those angry eyes that had everyone pleading for an answer. Especially Arnold. And now was his chance. Take it or leave it? Look or leave behind the sacred pages closed to the public's eyes? Reach out and grab it or wait like a sage?  
  
No. He wouldn't do a thing like that. As much as he wanted, possibly needed, to know went on in Helga's world, it was her diary. He couldn't do that to her, even through all the pain she had inflicted on him in his troubled past. He was too good-hearted.  
  
He pocketed the small mystery and walked on to Rhonda's.  
  
  
  
"No, I am NOT going to kiss that little freak; if you think I'm am…well, you're crazy!" Rhonda complained. Curly held his face in front of Rhonda's, his lips stretching out in anticipation for a kiss. The entire gang was playing Spin the Bottle, and in particular, having a wild time laughing at Curly's desperate attempts to win Rhonda over.  
  
"You knoooow you want to! Give daddy some sugar!!!" he manically swooned, putting his arm around Rhonda. "Ewwww, NO!!" she screamed, frantically running out of the room while being chased by Curly. The gang roared with laughter; even Helga chuckled heartily quite a few times. She hadn't had this much fun in a long time.  
  
Arnold glanced over at Helga, smiling. Her grin instantly turned into a false frown as she scowled at him, turning her head away and rolling over onto her blanket. He sighed, turning his attention back to the game they had been playing. Helga might have looked like she was angry with Arnold, but the truth was: her heart was melting like a cold Popsicle on a scorching July afternoon. She peered behind her pillow to watch Rhonda come walking wearily out of her kitchen.  
  
"Okay, people, Curly is locked in the closet, so don't bother unlocking it. (Everyone heard loud manic screams and animal noises from down the hall.) So whose turn is it?" She glanced at the crowd of kids, rubbing her nose thoughtfully and humming to herself. "I…do believe it's Arnold's turn to go!" she declared, pointing a finger at the football-headed boy. Low mutters scattered among the fourth graders, their eyes focused on the nervous preteen. Especially Helga, her eyes nearly falling out of her sockets while she stared at the blonde from behind her thick blanket.  
  
"Okay…I guess…" Arnold choked out, nervously putting his hand on the glass bottle. There were a variety of girls at the party, yet only one would be chosen to kiss. Would it be Phoebe? Would it be Nadine? Perhaps it would be the ever so perfect Miss Lila? Or if worse came to worse…..  
  
"Please not Helga, please not Helga…" he thought to himself as he whirled the bottle rapidly. His thoughts flashed before his eyes, as if he were the bottle itself; swirling around and around, faster and faster as the figments of his childhood passed frame by frame in his football-headed mind…  
  
The bottle finally slowed to a stop. And sure to his luck, it pointed to Helga.  
  
The gang let out a loud gasp. Arnold…was to kiss Helga?! Arnold sat with a shocked expression on his face, eyes bulging out of his sockets. He turned to Rhonda, who was smirking nonchalantly in the corner of the living room. "Rhonda, please…can I get a do-over?" he pleaded. Rhonda shook her head, a grin plastered to her face. "Sorry Arnold, no do-overs in THIS game…but there IS something else you can do…" She reached into her pocket and pulled out a pair of medium sized silver circles chained to one another. "Well, are you up to it, Arnold?" He gulped as Rhonda twirled the shimmering pair of cuffs coolly around her fingertips.  
  
"I cannot beLIEVE I am doing this," Helga complained, fluffing her pillow and tucking herself under a blanket. A shiny silver handcuff pair linked her wrist to Arnold's, to his very demise. Rhonda had dared Helga and him to stay chained to each other by handcuffs for one week, and quite frankly, Helga was surprised that Arnold had the noble courage to withstand her bullying from that moment on—linked by chains. A list of solvable yet annoying problems came to mind as well. The bathroom thing became an issue, neither of them had the willpower to argue to which house they would sleep in for the remainder of the week, and disappointment and hatred had already started to settle between the two. They were forced to face each other while they slept, in addition, seeing a pile of pillows as a partition wouldn't be a very comfortable solution as to refusing to look the other in his or her eye.  
  
Helga climbed miserably under a giant pink blanket with Arnold, resting their tired heads each on a fluffy feather pillow. They figured it would keep them a lot warmer if they used only one blanket. Plus, it was all Rhonda had left to offer. She couldn't take the risk of letting Curly out of the closet to retrieve a new blanket, even though his screaming had finally ceased. Nevertheless, Helga felt a desirable urge to hug Arnold. Maybe it was because their bodies were so close because of their wrists being chained together and because of the fact that Helga had always had a fond urge to embrace her beloved. Sadly, she could not, as it wasn't quite the proper time to pronounce her feelings to him; she still knew her chance would appear soon in the future.  
  
Helga sighed, closing her sleep deprived eyelids. "'Night, Arnold," she mumbled, drifting off into her well-needed slumber. Thankfully for Arnold, she didn't snore once. He smiled back at her, appreciative that she hadn't called him Football Head. "She looks…cute when she's sleeping…" he thought. "Wait…did I just think that? No…no, I'm just probably a little tired today…" Arnold sighed. He knew his excuses were wearing thin.  
  
"Good night, Helga…" he grinned once more, shutting his eyes and falling into a deeper sleep than he had had for weeks. 


	4. The Dream

O Arnold, Where Art Thou?  
  
By Angela Marcisak  
  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Hey Arnold!, okay? Craig is so much better than me…*sniff* Why, God, why?  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thank you to all my faithful reviewers! I apologize for not specifically thanking each of you, but I must return to writing this chapter. I'm sorry it took so long to get out; I've been having problems in my life lately that have been on my mind more than this fic. So, without further ado, Chapter 4! (  
  
CHAPTER 4- The Dream and The First Day  
  
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The long winding road finally came to a close, stopping at a clear dead end. Well, not completely. The bridge had collapsed, and there was no way of crossing over to the other side. There stood a large gap between two incredibly steep cliffs, which stood over an incredibly deep dam somewhere in the mountains of Colorado. Yes, the scenery was simply breathtaking; yet the serenity of the wilderness would not stay silent for long.  
  
An ear-piercing scream shook the snow-capped forests; animals had begun to scurry around in panic and in no knowledge of what was going on. Deer galloped to and fro, bellowing in the snowy meadows, and tiny chipmunks rocketed up pine trees for a decent shelter. Chickadees took flight on little wings as far away from the site as they possibly could, and jackrabbits hopped into their burrows.  
  
Cut back to the dead end. A little girl, around nine years old, was standing on the edge. Her clothes, a faded black T-shirt and a ripped pair of denim jeans, were battered and torn in a number of places, and a dirty silver cuff was tied to her wrist, yet the other end had been cut off previously. Her hair was matted and covered with dirt, showing signs it was blonde, yet it was so filthy that you could hardly even recognize it unless you looked at her up close. About less than a foot away from the girl stood a boy. This boy had matted hair as well, yet he was also blonde and also had a less-than-shiny cuff hanging from a scratched wrist covered in fingernail marks. His clothes were decent to match the odd shape of his head—a plaid button-down shirt covered by a sky blue sweater and blue pants with black shoes.  
  
The girl looked over her shoulder and began to scream again. The view was horrendous; one step backward could send her plummeting into the depths of the unfathomable dam. She looked back over at the boy, a disgraced finger pointed in her horror-struck face. "You don't…" he started, taking a step back, "You don't deserve to live!" He struck a hand forward, sending the girl backwards. Time stood still for what seemed like hours, maybe even weeks. Her eyes, filled with sorrow, filled with tears and alone begged for forgiveness. "I'm so sorry, Arnold…" she whispered. He could see her mouth those words as they escaped her mouth, but heard no sound. It was all drowned out by the rushing calamity of the waterfalls. She seemed lifeless as a corpse as she plunged lower and lower off the cliff, soon to meet her doom by the sweeping extreme depths of the river, whatever doom may have been. "You don't deserve to live!" The words echoed shamefully in her mind, yet her eyes remained closed. The raging waters laid only inches below her. "This is for you, Arnold…"  
  
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"AAAAH!" Helga shrieked. She sat up quickly, yanking her arm forward to wipe the sweat off her brow. Unfortunately, she pulled the wrong arm. "OWW!" Arnold yelled, his peaceful grin turning to a look of anger. "What was that for, Helga? I was trying to sleep!" "Sleep? Isn't it…?.." Helga glanced at her wristwatch. It read 3:02 AM. "Oh…sorry, Football Head…" she shot back with mock sorrow. Arnold glared miserably, setting his head back down on his pillow. Helga yanked her arm forward once more. "Ouch, Helga!" Arnold rubbed his hurting wrist. A red mark penetrated the pale peach skin. "Not so fast, Arnoldo," Helga whispered scornfully. "I need to use the bathroom!" Arnold sighed, annoyed that Helga had interrupted his peaceful slumber at such an early hour in the morning. "Fine, Helga. I promise to keep my eyes shut; I wouldn't want to answer to Old Betsy…" Helga stopped him. "Never mind, Hair Boy. (sigh) Now where's my pink book? At least my right hand is free…some dream I had; I'd better write it down…" She pulled her pink duffel bag over to her side, rummaging through the insides. She gasped. "My book? Where's my book? Oh God, no, this HAS happened before…" She stopped still. Slowly turning to Arnold, a smug smile appeared on her face, while a knot formed in Arnold's throat. "Arnold…?" she dauntingly inquired. "Do you KNOW where my book is?" Arnold swallowed. He reached with his free arm under a pillow, pulling out a familiar orchid-colored tome, handing it to Helga with a trembling arm. She snagged it away, stuffed it in her knapsack, and stood up, urging him to follow. They walked quietly to the bathroom door, stepping over the many piles of still sleeping preteens. Helga opened the door, and with her back to the toilet, dragged him in and slammed it shut.  
  
She had a desired urge to grab him by the throat and wring his sorry little neck, but she couldn't do that to poor Arnold that early in the morning, so she stood up straight and began to speak.  
  
"Arnold? Could you tell me WHY you had my DIARY?!?" she roared, sending him back into the sink behind him. Her face was deeper than the shade of the pink book itself. "You dropped it on the sidewalk before the sleepover party, and I forgot to give it back to you. I-I didn't read it, I swear!" he pleaded, watching Helga's angry face awaiting a response. She dropped a clutched fist at her side, sighing loudly. "Whatever." Arnold had narrowly escaped that one.  
  
"You had better watch it, bucko," she continued, turning towards the toilet, "Or else you're gonna be—HAROLD?" Harold stood laughing at the base of the toilet, holding a burnished silver object over its surface. The key! Helga lunged forward at the fat smiling boy, but it was too late. He dropped the key into the automatic toilet, and before either Helga or Arnold could rescue it, it disappeared down the U-bend and out of plain sight.  
  
~END~  
  
A/N: I'm sorry this chap was so short! I didn't want the people who are reading this story to be peeved about me taking so long. I have writer's block, unfortunately. Please review anyway? I'll make my future chaps as long as I can. 


	5. Apology Note

Apology  
  
  
  
Hello!  
  
Arnold's Crush here.or Angie, as you may call me.  
  
I just wanted to let everybody know that I'm REALLY sorry I haven't written in so long. High school is hell, and I'm currently working on some other stories that are taking up some of my time. Don't think I've forgotten about this fic, because I haven't! *smiles*  
  
When I find the time to continue it, I will, trust me. For now, I'm very busy, however.please don't be mad at me, though! I will try and continue whenever I get a chance.  
  
Sincerely,  
  
A.M. 


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